


Visit to Hell

by daeneryssed



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hell, Angel Dany, Devil Jon Snow, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Halloween AU, Jonerys AU month, Mild Angst, Mild Smut, Sort Of, fallen angel AU, my first attempt at a moodboard!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 14:01:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21254531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daeneryssed/pseuds/daeneryssed
Summary: Jon Snow is bored in Hell. Devils don't have much to do after a thousand years.Until he stumbles upon an angel in a cave, and suddenly, life doesn't seem so bad after all.





	Visit to Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween! I don't even celebrate it LOL 
> 
> This fic is such a hot mess (I rewrote large chunks of it multiple times and lost a lot of sleep over it) but I decided to just post it because I wanted to add something to the fic count for this. That, and I created this mood board at the start of this month and I really wanted to post a fic for it HAHA 
> 
> I'm sorry for typos in advance. Enjoy!!
> 
> P.S. I deleted and reposted this fic. SORRY. AO3 messed something up.

꙰

Hell was a pretty boring place.

Sure, humans had a morbid fascination with the demons, devils, ghouls and other creepy-crawlies that skulked and slithered out of this place – from ancient tales of hellish terrors that haunted the dark nights to the penny dreadfuls and horror novels that captured the imagination of millions. After a thousand years or so, though, even the scariest, more bizarre shit that the hellscape spewed out began to lose novelty. Davos laughed at him whenever he got into these moods, telling Jon “you try living for a few more thousand years and then come complain of boredom to me, son”.

Except Davos didn’t seem bored. He looked positively upbeat every time he visited Jon’s dark, dank corner of the underworld, back straight and face beaming under the fluttering sails of his ghost ship, the massive wooden, vessel creaking out of the swirling grey clouds, a twisted spectre of Captain Hook's ship, for it led to nor came from nowhere good. Jon asked him once how he did it; how he maintained his sunny disposition amidst the doom and gloom of the world around them. Davos had only shrugged and given him a mysterious smile.

“It’s all in the mind, lad,” he had replied, then added mischievously, “A good woman would do the trick as well.”

Jon had pointedly ignored him. The past two times he had gotten involved with women, one had fired arrows in his back and fucked off into the northern ice wastelands and the other had dumped him for a burly, red-haired giant after complaining that he was too “broody” and "too short".

He had refused to leave his castle for twenty-odd years or so after that.

His consistent bad moods had turned an already miserable land even more wretched. The trees in the forest around his castle had become mangled and overgrown, the twisted trunks and sharp branches crawling with misshapen creatures of the night. The one pristine lake had become a bog with eye-less, clawing sea monsters hiding beneath the thick upper layer of stinking moss, who yanked down any of the poor souls that floated over them. The icy northern tundra had apparently become overrun by rotting dead men with bright blue eyes whose screams were the sound of cracking ice. Even the toughest ghouls in the area had cleared out, unable to bear the ice storms that the creatures brought. The Others, they had been named. Jon figured his subconscious was getting revenge on his ex-girlfriends. 

Jon unleashed these into the nightmare realms of mortals above and briefly revelled in the terror he caused.

That only entertained him for a few decades before his mood began to sour again.

“Are you really so bored?” his cousins asked him when they visited one day. Little Arya, a psychotic butcher perpetually in the form of a young girl, whose favourite past-time was to chop souls up and bake them into pies. Tall, pretty Sansa, who reared herds of wolves on the edges of the Wolfswood and unleashed them on travellers – _any _travellers – whenever she felt like it.

“Don’t you feel bored?” he asked incredulously, exasperated. “Doesn’t anyone feel bored here? We spend thousands of years, maybe more, doing the same things over and over. Don’t you want to experience something new?”

His cousins shared alarmed looks. “Not really,” Sansa said slowly, as if she was trying not to spook him. As if he was one of her wolves, ready to snap and bite. “I kind of enjoy what I do.”

“For a thousand years?”

Sansa shrugged. “Why not?”

In the end, they suggested he give Robb a visit at Winterfell. He was experimenting on new transformations again. The latest were horrific amalgamations of wolf and human forms.

“It’s fucking ugly,” Arya said right before she and Sansa stepped off into the mist. “You really should see it. He misses you too.”

Then the mist – white, opaque, all-consuming – enveloped them and they were gone. Jon sighed. Left alone, cold and miserable, really _fucking _bored.

He began to trudge back home. He lived in a small castle by himself – and, well, the necessary servants to service the place, who largely ignored him – far in the northern regions of the underworld, right on the edge of the ice wastes. Arya and Rickon had nicknamed it Castle Black for its general gloomy atmosphere. It was perpetually shrouded in a thick fog. It was freezing. Storms constantly battered the place.

Jon couldn’t really control it. It just seemed to reflect his mood. He vaguely recalled that, long ago in the past, it had once seen some modicum of sunlight, a rare occurrence in Hell and even rarer wherever he went. He had been permanently banned from the Riverlands were Lady Catelyn lived because she complained that he brought rain and thunder to a place that was waterlogged enough already. That was fine; he didn’t want to see her very much either. He would never get over her undead body, throat slit and flapping whenever she spoke. He shivered just thinking about it.

Footsteps heavy and head bowed, choosing to walk the full way back, all the more to commiserate in his misery, Jon resigned himself to an eternity of boredom.

That was when he felt it.

A disturbance in the air. 

A sweet tune that his ears barely caught. 

Perfume that wafted through the stale air.

Jon came of a standstill, slowly turning in to take in his surroundings. He was on a dirt road, surrounded by nothing but the trees of the Haunted Forest. It had begun to drizzle.

Closing his eyes, he attempted to pinpoint the source of the disturbance. It took a while to realise what exactly it was; a clustering of _souls _and the absence of the usual hellish fiends. It came from his right, in the Haunted Forest. Jon shot into it, leaping nimbly across a narrow, muddy ditch to enter the forest.

It was tough going. Gnarled roots jutted out from the uneven ground and low-hanging branches whipped painfully against his face in the wind that was picking up. Jon cursed. The trees would normally part for him, for this forest was his own creation, formed from the deep recesses of his mind centuries ago. Except now, it closed on him, trying to shut him out and turn him away. A few times, he had to summon Longclaw, his ancestral longsword, to physically clear the terrain and, at a few points, souls.

“Fuck off,” he roughly swore. The ghostly entities, shadows of men and women who had been damned, scuttered away when they realised he was there.

How could they not sense him? What had captured their attention so much that they did not sense a _devil _moving through them? What had chased away the usual monsters that roamed these woods?

Eventually, Jon emerged from the dark forest into a small clearing. It was crowded with souls, their forms illuminating the surrounding trees with an eerie, green glow. They moaned and parted as he strode through them. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end. His heart thudded fast. The perfume invading his senses was the loveliest scent he had ever smelled and he was humming the melody that sounded through the woods around him.

By now, he knew that only one type of creature could be responsible for this.

But why would they be here?

“Where did you come from?” he murmured. Rain was pouring down heavily now. His unruly curls were plastered to the sides of his face and his grey overcoat was soaked. He did not feel uncomfortable though. Only excited.

Lightning struck. There! Off to one side of the clearing was a small brook. Jon recalled that it should lead to a waterfall not too far off.

With a sense of purpose that he had not felt in a very long time, Jon set off upstream, shoving aside and chasing away the incessant, stubborn souls that clustered around, until he reached a small lake at the base of a gushing waterfall.

A memory burst through his mind. Robb and him, climbing stones beside a waterfall, laughing. Arya and Bran standing at the foot, yelling after them, unhappy at being left behind. Little Rickon giggling in Sansa’s arms.

A smile spread on Jon’s face.

Seven hells, when was the last time he had smiled?

He approached the base of the waterfall. The souls did not approach here, keeping a safe distance away from what no doubt was hidden somewhere nearby, drawn to its power but too afraid to go closer. The music was loudest here, threatening to overpower even the deep rumble of the storm around him. The sweet aroma was mixed with the earthy petrichor that the rains brought. Jon looked up. There was a trail leading behind the waterfall, where he could glimpse the narrow opening of a cavern.

Gripping the stones at his side, Jon carefully made his way up the track. Sadly, immortality did not grant him immunity from broken bones or twisted ankles.

At long last, he reached the narrow entrance that disappeared behind the curtain of water pouring down. Jon ducked his head and hopped in.

Jon had expected to find a dank, pitch-black cavern. Instead, it was bathed in a brilliant white light. The walls shimmered and glowed in its rays. The air was warm and welcoming. The grim, bleak aura that blanketed the hellscape seemed to recede, along with the sounds of the storm raging outside, and Jon felt a wonderful lightness in the air. Close here, the music faded although the sweet scent lingered.

Feeling like a young boy that had found a hidden treasure, he rounded the corner of the cavern.

There, lying on a raised platform of stone, was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

Hair as pale as moonlight, skin golden and warm, and a face so lovely, he could have spent the rest of eternity smiling upon it. Folded neatly behind her back, a set of white, feathered wings.

An angel.

In Hell.

He strode forward, mouth agape, irresistibly drawn to her. Just a few metres from her, she stirred. Eyes formerly closed shot open, revealing amethyst orbs. Soft, pink lips parted in a small gasp. Jon felt an overwhelming urge to close the distance and kiss here. Hold her. Claim her right there.

His tainted thoughts must have been palpable, for the angel shot up into a sitting position, eyes terrified, and she flicked out a hand. A small wind hit Jon. It barely tickled him.

“Don’t come any closer!” she yelled out.

Jon stopped. Had he ever heard a voice so sweet?

“Stay away,” she warned. Her knees were drawn up to her chest. She was dressed in a light, white tunic. It would not take any effort to rip it off her.

“What is an angel doing here?” he asked her, tamping down on his perverse, wayward thoughts. “Lost your way?”

Her cheeks turned red, as if in embarrassment; a curious reaction. “Yes,” she said after a momentary pause. “Go away. I’m just resting before I make my way back up.”

“What is your name?”

“Go away,” she repeated. Her voice became stronger, more biting. “I won’t repeat myself.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I will, I will…” she trailed off, teeth gnawing at her bottom lip, eyes darting across to search for an escape route, before she finally sighed in resignation. “I suppose I can do nothing.” Curled up in a ball, she was so small and vulnerable. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

Jon blinked. “Why would I hurt you?”

She eyed him suspiciously. “You’re a devil.”

“I am.”

“I am an angel.”

“I can see that. Nice wings.”

“So you won’t hurt me?”

“Why would I hurt something so lovely?” He walked closer, right up to the edge of the stone platform. The few times he had seen angels, it had been from afar, glimpses of bright winged creatures who flittered in the distance, the sounds of their gaily laughter faint. “I only want to see you better.”

She did not appear to believe him. He did not blame her. His body still stirred at her closeness. However, he was no brute. Jon sat down slowly at the platform a safe distance from her, head peering over her shoulder to look at her folded wings. There were feathered and so very pretty, although he saw now that one was slightly bent out of shape. No doubt she was injured, explaining her weak state.

“What is your name?” he asked again.

The angel hesitated. She searched his eyes, brows furrowed, and Jon felt soft tendrils prodding at his mind. He jerked back, knowing what she was doing, and eyed her with suspicion. What dark secrets would she uncover? What wretchedness would she find in him?

Whatever she saw, it must not have been terrible, because her face relaxed and she answered, “Dany.”

It took him a few seconds to realise that was her name. “Dany.” He rolled the name over his tongue. He liked it. “It is not your real name.”

“No, I am smarter than to give a devil my real name. You would use it against me.”

He scoffed. He wasn't about to curse her. “There is truth to this ‘Dany’. I can sense it. Your real name must be longer.”

The angel – _Dany – _shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“My name is Jon Snow,” he told her. “Unlike you, I have no qualms about giving my name.” Then, with a burst of stupid bravery which always found him in front of pretty girls, “You can use me however you want.”

Her cheeks reddened again and she turned away. He smiled, pleased that she had not reacted wholly negatively to his teasing. He stood up and held out a gloved hand. Dany looked surprised.

“You aren’t going to stay in this cavern, are you? You are causing quite a stir outside. Come, I will take you some place more comfortable.”

She eyed the outstretched hand suspiciously.

“I promise I won’t hurt you,” he said. _Kiss you, maybe, if you would let me. Touch your beautiful skin and taste you, if it would please you. _He kept the thoughts to himself. He did not want to scare her.

After a few more seconds of consideration, the angel appeared to come to a decision and with a deep inhale, placed her hand in his.

Her hand was small, soft, and fit in his palm perfectly. He pulled her to her feet, lending her his strength. Her white dress flowed down to her knees, her curves visible through the thin material, the tips of her nipples taut in the cold air. It was hard not to stare. Forcing himself to look away, he tugged her gently towards the entrance of the cavern.

“Your wings are a little conspicuous,” he commented, eyeing the feathery extensions on her back.

“They are a part of me,” she replied.

No matter, he supposed. No creature would dare to attack while he accompanied her, not that any lingered in the area. The lesser fiends that populated the edges of the forest had been chased away by her very presence already, and they were too far on the outskirts to be bothered by the more dangerous monsters further in. She was strong even in her injured state. How bright she must shine in the light of Heaven.

꙰ 

The storm was taking a short breather when the two of them emerged from the cave. Perhaps it reflected the change in his mood, a deep excitement throbbing through his veins, the same nostalgic sensation from before washing over him as they walked past the thundering waterfall.

The souls in the surrounding areas cried out for salvation, even as they pushed away to give Jon and Dany a wide berth. The angel’s small hand gripped his own tightly, face a little pained as she eyed the damned.

“Ignore them,” he told her. “They do not deserve your blessing.”

“It is horrible,” she said, although her voice held less sympathy than he expected.

They wound their way through the ferns, brambles and twisted trees of the Haunted Forest, her wings dissipating as she finally relented and dismissed them, making for easier travel. The sharp thorns and branches scratched at Dany’s bare arms and leg, her eyes tearing up in pain, until he insisted that she wear his coat, wet and uncomfortable as it must be. It dwarfed her.

_So cute, _he thought, looking at her in his clothes. _I want to just hold her forever._

They were back at the main road before long, both breathing a sigh of relief at escaping the oppressive woods. Coming back to the ditch, Jon jumped over first before reaching out a hand to Dany. She took a leap as well, but her sandaled feet had a poor grip on the slippery mud, and with a yelp, she toppled backwards.

Jon surged forward and grabbed her by the waist, booted ramming against a buried rock for purchase, and he pulled her back towards him. She collided against his chest, small body warmer than he had expected, her silver hair soft against his lips.

She leapt back almost immediately.

He raised his hands. “Only trying to help you,” he reassured her.

Dany refused to meet his eyes. “Is it always so dark and cold here?” she asked instead, as they clambered back onto the main road.

“Tired of it already?” he asked, smiling. “Is it always sunshine and rainbows back up home?”

“No, we get storms,” she said almost indignantly. “They just aren’t quite so…terrible as these.” As if on cue, a bright bolt of lightning rendered the dark night sky in two. Dany jumped a little, eyes wide as the brilliant streaks of light cracked the sky into jagged pieces.

He let her watch the lightshow until he sensed that the rain would start again soon. With a mental call, a thick mist began to envelop them. Dany gasped, stumbling towards him, hand coming up to blindly grip his arm as her eyes darted around them.

“Do not worry,” he said gently, lightly touching her hand. She whipped her head back to him. He gave her a small smile. “I am only taking you home.”

_Taking her home_. The words settled low in his gut. Oh, how many things he would like to do to her, if only she was his. Tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow,,they set off together.

꙰ 

It took only a matter of seconds before the mists cleared and they found themselves in front of a massive set of iron-wrought gates. Moss-covered concrete walls loomed over them, several metres high and topped with the visage of skulking wolves, teeth bare, eyes narrowed and claws visible. The rust on the gates glittered gold and red in the warm flames of the two lamps hanging on each side.

The gates slowly swung open, scraping against the pebbled ground where it hung too low, and out of the thick fog came the clicking sounds of a horse-drawn carriage. These looked formidable too. Muscled steeds that stood taller than him came into view, pulling a black and gold carriage with gilded wheels and wooden steps.

“Please, my lady, if I may?” he said, stepping forward. Like the gates, the door opened of its own accord for them, the red, velvet seats inside plush and warm, a blanket and towel folded neatly in the corner, and even a mug of warm ale placed on a little hovering tray.

Dany looked delighted, her earlier apprehension seemingly forgotten as she eyed the warm interior of the coach.

Her fingers gripped his tightly as she clambered slightly ungracefully into the carriage.

_Poor thing is so cold she can hardly walk straight_, he realised. She had not been holding onto his arm as a matter of courtesy but necessity.

Swinging himself in after her, he seated himself next to her, the carriage large enough to easily accommodate them both with space in between.

Once the door closed, the horses were off again, making a u-turn and leading them back up to the castle. Dany’s eyes roamed the inside of the carriage as she shrugged off his cloak and dried her hair, the molding decorated with more wolves, similar to the ones that had topped the walls.

“So many wolves,” she murmured, a question in her statement.

“The emblem of my family.” 

“Which family is this?”

“The Starks. We rule over large swathes of this area of Hell.”

Dany’s brows furrowed in confusion. “You said you were Jon _Snow_.”

“Aye,” he confirmed, grinning at her, “that is a story for when we know each other better. Perhaps when you tell me your full name, I shall tell you my full story.”

“I thought you had no reservations about your name.” Her retort was bolder than he expected from her. Perhaps she was not as meek as he thought.

“No, not about my name. But my life?” He smiled at her, just a little suggestively, wanting to test her boundaries. “I would like to be much better acquainted first.”

Her cheeks flushed again but this time, to his surprise and pleasure, she held his gaze.

_There is a fire there. She is no weak angel that fell into this hell-hole._

There was no time to investigate further for Dany’s eyes caught something behind him and widened.

They had come into view of the castle. It was a depressing thing. The walls were made of rickety, rotting wood and browning bricks caked with mud and moss from years of neglect. The winds whistled through its wooden eaves, like distant screams of tortured souls. Long windows, most unlit, decorated its exteriors, giving the place an almost mournful expression. A light mist of rain fell around them.

“Welcome to my home, Dany,” he announced, holding back a sigh. This place was truly shitty; he could not understand why Dany was smiling in wonder at it. “Let’s get you inside.”

꙰ 

The castle was not large. The front doors opened into a decently-sized hallway, the dining halls and kitchens off to one side and the library and drawing rooms off to the other. Servants – two horned demons and a goblin – rushed to take his wet coat off and take Dany’s damp towel from her hand. She eyed them curiously, especially the demons, who with their reddish green, pock-marked skin, black curved horns, broken yellow teeth and red eyes were very much the poster boys of Hell.

Distracted as she was, she did not notice his skeleton butler float up to her side.

When she did, she gave a small scream.

Jon burst out laughing, earning him a glare. “This is Robb,” he introduced, and the skull showing above the gentlemanly pinstriped suit and beneath the tall hat smiled – or approximated a smile, the jaw hanging down. It was rather ghastly, he decided with a grimace. Nothing to impress an angel with. He had named it Robb out of spite after a fight with his cousin, for it gave Jon great pleasure to order it around. “He will bring you to a guest room to change.”

Dany eyed it apprehensively, hanging back at his side for a few seconds before she agreed to follow it down the hallways, her posture stiff and and the glance she threw over her shoulder at his uneasy. Jon waved her away with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He felt pleased that the angel clearly trusted him with her safety.

That, or she really had no choice.

He was not sure what clothes would be found inside the guest quarters. He trusted the castle would spit out something appropriate. Once, Arya had visited and found a chest full of daggers, while little Rickon had found an endless symposium of toys, so Jon figured one could find what one wanted. He himself changed in his own bedroom, swapping his clothes and boots for a fresh, dry set.

He felt a little self-conscious, with such a beautiful angel in his house, and when he turned, a mirror had materialised.

_Truly, this house delivers_, he thought. He had had so few wants in the past century that he had forgotten how useful it could be.

When Dany reappeared, she was to his surprise still in her white dress, only it was dry now, a little less sheer, and half-hidden under a thick, fur-lined white coat. Her feet were bare, he noticed.

“You’re still in white,” he commented, bemused.

“You are still in black,” she shot back. “Do you always dress so dark?” He looked down at his ensemble. A dark grey overcoat over pitch black shirt, pants and boots.

“I like this.”

“Perfect archetype of a devil, aren’t you?”

“But I _am _a devil.”

“I meant-” Dany narrowed her eyes. “Never mind.”

“I like black,” he said, shrugging, not seeing the issue. “Just as you like dressing in white, I see.” He came close to her, crowding her just a little to gauge her reaction. When she did not move away, he reached out and twisted a lock of her hair around a finger. She eyed him warily. “You have such pretty hair. Like moonlight or maybe gold, in the firelight.”

“Poetic.”

He grinned at her. “Not usually. I’m no bleeding poet. But for you,” he tugged lightly on the lock in his hand, teasing, “I would learn.”

Her cheeks reddened just a little bit. It was easy to make her blush. He would like to see her fair face redden from his other exertions.

_Ah, I have not felt desire in so long, _he thought, inhaling her sweet scent, _I would love to kiss her._

Contrary to his expectations, she did not step away. Instead, she remained in her spot, boldly meeting his eyes.

“What were you doing here, Dany?” he asked her, for he doubted that was an invitation to kiss her, although he wanted to, very much.

There was a flicker in her eye, so quick he would not have caught it if not for their proximity. “I fell,” she said.

“What is the truth?”

“That _is _the truth.”

_That fire again._

“You came here,” he said slowly, appraising her, cocking his head to one side. She raised a perfect eyebrow at him. “Why?”

“Like I said,” she said calmly, facing away from him and tugging her coat around her, “I fell.”

꙰ 

Her wings were damaged. He sat her down on a bench in the drawing room, hands lighting brushing over the feathered wings. It was soft beneath his callused hands.

“Something attacked you?” he asked, and she nodded.

“Ravens.”

_Bran. _He was unsure whether his younger cousin had deliberately targeted the angel or if the ravens had acted of their own accord, so he stayed silent. He did not want her to distrust him.

“Do you have horns too?” she asked, twisting in her seat to face him. “Don’t devils have horns?”

“And a tail,” he said neutrally, nodding, “with a three-pointed staff.”

He felt almost guilty at the way her lips widened in a gleeful smile, the happiness in her tone as she exclaimed, “May I see them?”

“Aye,” he said, “after we get to know each other.”

“You’ve seen my wings!”

“I’m a private person.” He shrugged. “I don’t know your name yet, so I think we are even.”

She looked terribly put out and he resisted the urge to touch her cheeks, smoothen her pouting lips with his thumbs. Instead, he touched her shoulder lightly to draw her attention to him once more.

“Would you like to walk around?”

꙰ 

Dany eagerly took him up on the offer. She flittered through the corridors of the castle, bare feet treading so lightly he could not hear any sound over the patter of the raindrops on the glass windows and brick walls around. He followed her from a distance behind, eyes travelling from her silver hair down to the edges of her coat, falling just above her knees and revealing the pale, smooth skin of her shin and calves.

“Are you not cold?” he asked her. On their next turn around a corner, Robb appeared, holding a pair of black flats.

Dany shot him a wry look. “Change the colour, and I shall consider wearing them.”

He resisted for a moment, just to annoy her. Only when her brows began to twitch downwards did Robb reach behind his back and retrieve a similar pair of shoes, only this time in white. Dany scoffed at him, knowing his game, though she smiled. Jon felt the urge to kiss her again.

“For you,” he said, reaching around her to take the shoes. He dropped down on one knee, holding out a shoe for her to slip her foot in. Dany peered down at him, the familiar red bleeding into her cheeks. Placing a hand gingerly on his shoulder, she put her shoes on. When he stood up, he allowed himself to linger a second near her before stepping away respectfully.

Dany shook her head lightly. “You are different from what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“More horns.”

He snorted.

“Also,” her purple eyes bore into his own, as her voice dropped down to a whisper, “a monster.”

“Whatever do you mean?” he queried with faux-innocent as he stepped back towards her, spurred on by her words.

“You have been a gentleman thus far.”

“I am no brute,” he said, leaning in close and breathing in her perfume - the smell of lavender and spice. “Unless you would like me to be one.”

The candles lighting the hallway around them dimmed, bathing both in near darkness, and behind her, a door appeared. It would lead to a bedroom, with a large double bed and any number of toys for them to play with. An adjoining washroom with a bath wide enough for both to fit comfortably. A fireplace so large she could stay naked by his side without feeling any cold, although it was not needed, for he would warm her body in other ways. Jon could not remember the last time he had felt such desire. It had been so long.

And it was not to be sated yet. Dany dipped her head, modestly, just a bit insincerely, and walked on.

“I would like to explore this place. Show me Hell, Jon Snow.”

꙰ 

She spent weeks exploring the place. She did not seem to grow tired of its endless hallways, twisting one away and another, candles casting long shadows on its walls. Her energy was too much for him at times. There were days when he left her to her own devices, until she reappeared, cheeks red and breathless, a smile on her face and Robb trailing behind her.

“Do you not want to explore with me?” she had queried on the first morning after she had arrived.

“What is there to see? I’ve been here a thousand years.”

“But I have not. So everything you have seen, did not have me in it. Would you not like to see things with me?”

It was such an innocent statement, spoken half in jest, yet there was truth in it. He could not remember the last time he had shot out of bed so enthusiastically. He had tossed and turned that night, unable to sleep, painfully aware of the presence of the celestial being sleeping in his house, just a few hallways down, the light music from before a haunting tune. He had eventually given up and retreated to the library, burying himself in random books to pass the time.

That same zest continued with each passing day. Sometimes, he did not sleep for days on end, choosing instead to pace the hallways until her door opened and he pretended he had only been passing by, ignoring the knowing smile on her face.

“Do you _have _to sleep every night?” he asked her.

“I like sleep,” she replied, “I love dreaming.”

As the days passed, he could see that she was regaining her strength, and her wings began to make more of an appearance. One day, she even flew up in the castle grounds for a few minutes, doing somersaults in the air and trying to pull him up with her. She collapsed down under his weight, into his arms.

He might have imagined it, but she seemed to linger there for a little while before pulling away, blush staining her cheeks.

The castle appeared to take delight in her curiosity, opening more and more doors – a library here, an armoury there, even at one point underground hot springs, like the ones at Winterfell.

He gaped at the room when Dany led him there, hand clutching his excitedly.

“You told me about them,” Dany said shyly, “the other day during supper. Steaming hot springs in an underground cavern that was bathed in firelight. I thought you might like this.”

He did. “Are we going to bathe together?” he asked her slyly, hands coming up to unbutton his shirt.

Dany blushed deep. “Actually, there are separate sections for males and females.”

He rolled his eyes, stalking towards her, giving her an exaggerated leer. “Perhaps I want to bathe together.”

She laughed, pushing him away, shaking her head so that her silver mane swung against his arm. “I will not be seduced by a devil, Jon Snow. Heaven’s doors would close on me surely.”

It took all his willpower not to kiss her, and he was sure she would not protest, not truly. Stepping back, he sighed. “If you say so, sweet angel,” he shucked off his shirt in her presence nonetheless, enjoying the way her eyes darted down to his abs. “You can practise resisting temptation while I take a nice bath.”

She squealed in protest, laughter in her voice, when his pants followed, baring his butt to her as he walked away.

꙰ 

“The sun really never rises here,” Dany commented one day. “No wonder you are so pale.”

He smirked. “Aye, that is why I shut it out. To protect my skin.”

She giggled. She had begun to laugh more at his jokes. He chuckled along with her. She looked pleased at that. Perhaps she liked making him laugh too. 

“You laugh more now,” she said, seating herself on the arm of his chair, her hair tickling his arm. “I think you look happier now than when I first saw you.”

“I blame that on you.”

“Me?” she gasped, laughing, “What did I do?”

“You’re the brightest thing to come into my life since…I don’t know. I can’t remember anymore.”

She seemed surprised at the sincerity in his answer. He had not been looking to make any statement. It simply…was the truth. The days that had once before dragged on endlessly, bleeding into one another, now stood out in vivid colour in his memories, each moment with her precious. It no longer rained as much. He thought the gardens around seemed neater; or perhaps the gardening gnomes were simply working double hard, for she wanted to take a walk in the castle grounds every other day.

Dany appeared to flounder for the next thing to say and eventually landed on a safe topic. 

“Is that why you wear such dreary clothes? To reflect your mood?”

He scoffed. “I think I look fine,” he shrugged.

“You’re in all black, as usual,” Daenerys sniffed. Her fingers pulled at the strands of his long, curly hair, which fell messily around his bearded face. “Maybe we can do something with your hair.”

He frowned. “What exactly would that be?”

“We can braid it?” Daenerys said excitedly. His jaw dropped.

“No!”

“Why not?”

“I’m not letting you touch my hair.”

“Oh, but it’s so beautiful, I would love to play with it,” she said dreamily. She threaded her fingers through the loose hair, a smile on her face and eyes bright as she smoothed it. Jon felt his cock stir at her tender touch. He could imagine her playing with his hair in very different circumstances.

Daenerys eyes dropped to his eyes, and he knew his gaze must have been smouldering, for she quickly dropped her hand, cheeks warm. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have,” she muttered.

“I don’t mind,” he told her, sly smile curling his lips up. She rolled her eyes but did not move away. 

“I mean what I say though. We should brighten up this place.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “What would you suggest?”

꙰ 

He was horrified.

Truly horrified.

First, she painted the drawing room walls yellow. Then she insisted on carpets, lots of carpets, all splashed with colours, with intricate designs of dragons and angels and flowers splattered through the hallways and rooms. Then she insisted on seeing his bedroom to decorate. Once inside, she promptly threw open the curtains, changed his sheets to a light blue and began tossing his clothes out of his wardrobe.

“Stop, stop, stop,” he cried out, picking up his clothes from the floor. “What are you doing?”

“I want to see you in other garbs than-” she threw another black shirt onto the ground, “-this!”

“I said I like black!”

“You would lovely in white and red, I think,” she said, eyes squinting at him, picturing him in something else. “Maybe gold and red. I’ll let you have some black.”

Beside her, Robb stood dutifully. Jon glared at it. When had the stupid thing become _her _servant and not his?

“Is this what you came to Hell for? Redecorate my place?”

“Exactly,” she said, “now, I want you to wear white, like me.”

He groaned. He was a devil. A fucking devil. And he was being bullied by an injured angel in his own home.

“Tell you what,” he told her, wading through his clothes and settling himself down by her side. He tugged her shirt out of her hands. “Why don’t you just…let my castle be? I’ll take you around Hell. Let you wear whatever you want. Play with the servants. But my clothes,” he yanked back his shirt after she tried to discretely pull it to her again, “are mine. So it’s either I wear black or I walk around naked.”

Dany pouted. “Fine, I only tried to help.” 

꙰ 

“I want to go outside,” she told him one day.

“You are free to,” he said, deliberately being obtuse, “the grounds are yours.”

She rolled her eyes. “We have been on many walks together. You know what I mean. I want to see _Hell _proper. You told me you would take me around.”

Jon looked up at her from his seat in his armchair, the firelight bathing her sweet face in gold.

“You have been happy here for weeks,” he told her almost petulantly. “Are you bored now?” Even he had taken years to get bored. He had thought she would have plenty more to do before she wanted to go outside. He hated going outside. It was full of dead things and ugly creatures who ran whenever he approached or tried to attack him. 

“It is not a fun place out there,” he cautioned.

However, when Dany put her mind to something, she got her way. He had come to realise that in the days past, when she would pester him incessantly or imperiously command him to do her bidding, using all manner of tactics to achieve her goals.

“I want to see,” she said doggedly. Then, she was kneeling down in front of him, almost between his legs, hand touching his knee lightly, “please.”

Jon nearly choked. He was sure it was on purpose. She had to know. A dozen different images flashed in his mind, all lewd, all obscene, all with his cock stuffed in her pretty throat as she moaned around his length.

Dany’s eyes only showed wide-eyed innocence. Jon groaned internally, hand coming up to comb through his thick curls.

“Okay, okay, fine, let us go outside.”

꙰ 

He gave her an umbrella, black with white stars on it – “a concession” he told her – and whisked her away into the carriage from before. Once she was settled in comfortably, he swung himself into the seat next to her. Their thighs pressed up against one another.

He might have made the carriage just a tiny bit smaller.

The door swung close after him and the horses began to draw them away. Their hooves clicked on the short, winding cobbled road that passed through the open fields of blackened heather and the occassional gnarled trees back to the iron gates. It swung open to let them through. 

“The Haunted Forest, where you fell,” he told her as thick forests rose on both sides. Dany’s inquisitive eyes never left her window. Her fingers, paler than he remembered, gripped the window edge lightly, as if to stop her from leaping out there and then. “It surrounds Castle Black on all sides.”

“How big is it?”

Jon shrugged. “Who knows? Nothing here is truly permanent. It shifts and morphs, with a mind of its own. Things we create here have a life of their own.”

“You created the forest?” 

“Partially. I gave life to it and it responds to my mood. Sometimes, if I am lucky, to my will, although it gets harder the older it gets.”

“Hm,” she murmured, not offering him anything more, her attention caught once more by the fauna around them. Following her eyes, trying to place what enraptured her, he found there was perhaps a strange sort of beauty in them. He thought back to the trees of the human world, usually not so misshapen, the vines and undergrowth not quite so sinister. 

“You were walking when you found me,” Dany said, breaking him out of his thoughts, “In the rain.”

“Aye, I like walking.”

“You like being dripping wet?”

_I would like you dripping wet._

“Did I say that?”

She huffed out a small laugh. “I suppose not. I much prefer to be dry. I do not think my love of nature and walking would survive this continuous rain.”

“The rain will stop as we leave my dominion.”

“How far is your dominion?”

“Very far,” he said, a rush of pride and narcissism rising in him, the need to impress strong. Dany looked at him.

“How long will we be riding?”

“Tired of the trees already?” he teased, waving a hand to their surroundings outside. She smiled.

“Perhaps.”

As if on cue, the mist overtook them. She gasped again, this time, in child-like delight.

“Is this your way of speeding through?” she asked. “You did this before.”

“We are simply crossing over to other parts of the hellscape. If we rode, the forest may never end.”

When they emerged, the treeline had fallen away and they were greeted with open moors that stretched in every direction as far as their eyes could see. It was covered in thick mist, bramble and overgrown hedges forming faint silhouettes against the greyness illuminated by the full moon. The rain died off. In the distance, a wolf howled. A few seconds later, the howls were echoed.

Dany looked like a child that had found sweets.

“Can we go through the fields?” she asked excitedly.

“And be eaten by wolves?”

She turned to him. “Will we?”

He gave it serious thought. While Sansa would never allow her wolves to maim him, for the Starks were fiercely protective of their own pack, Dany was a stranger. “My cousin prowls these lands. To the west-” he pointed to one side, “-is the Wolfswood. They will attack any who passes these lands without permission.”

“I am with you,” Dany said, with so much trust that Jon winced. Meek she may not be; naïve though? Almost certainly.

“Perhaps I want to feed you to the wolves. This may be a trap.”

To his surprise, she laughed at that. “No, Jon Snow,” she said with conviction, “you would never do that.”

“You thought me a monster.”

“I said you weren’t what I thought you would be.” This time, it was her who closed the distance between them, her amethyst orbs twinkling as she said, “I can _sense_ you, Jon Snow. You are good. You would never hurt me.”

He felt her power in the air around him. An angel’s trick, he knew, to look into someone’s soul and _know _their essence. The same way a devil could see the ugliness in any creature, an angel could see their good.

“A devil as damned as me?” he asked. His fingers itched to touch her hands, which were curled in her lap. “Are you sure?”

“I am,” and her tone brooked no argument. “I wish to walk the fields. Please.”

Who was he to deny her? Nodding, he picked up her umbrella from where it lay at their feet, and opened the coach doors. The horses had trotted to a stop.

Dany stepped down from the carriage, more daintily than before, her hand gripping his own again. He liked that. He told himself to take her riding out more often, or to cross ditches, or to take her down steep stairs. Anything for her hand to touch his own.

She grabbed onto his elbow tightly as he opened the umbrella, guarding them from any occasional shower that might fall during their walk.

“I think mayhaps you are wearing the wrong shoes,” he commented, eyeing her white flats.

“Then you shall clear the path for me.” She smiled up at him. “Or is this beyond your dominion?”

He figured Sansa would not mind him touching the outskirts of her lands. A small, smooth, tarred walkway appeared before them on the side of the pebbled road, fences on each side separating them from the grassy moors, with little gates appearing now and then in case Dany wanted to step out. They strode through, walking on and on and on, the landscape around them vast, making him feel small. He understood sometimes why Sansa liked this place. The openness was curiously liberating. Above them, the full moon began to descend. 

“The fog obscured most of my view,” Dany said as they reached the end of their path, a little pout on her face.

“I am afraid much of it persists.”

“Hmm, it is quite beautiful this way though,” hummed Dany. “I don't see any monsters though. Is this really hell? Show me some,” she said. Nay, commanded. Again, he wondered at her presence here. Despite her initial fright, there was sometime purposeful in the demeanour. The way she requested to be shown Hell, the lack of hurriedness in wishing to heal to return home, the curiosity and sense of wonder with which she regarded her surroundings.

“You act like a tourist,” he mused, parsing together her actions and mannerisms to figure her out better, “like someone who is used to being obeyed. You came here on purpose, didn’t you? You were searching for a way in. Why?”

“Like I said-”

“Aye, you fell.” He shook his head. “That is only half the truth. You were already on your way here. You wanted to see what it was like here.”

She did not deny it. She only lifted her chin a little, refusing to meet his eye, and her hand from his elbow dropped, as if to punish him for challenging her story.

He took the bait. He quickly grabbed her hand, gently, pulling her back towards him.

“I apologise, I shall not prod more than I need to,” he said into her ear, when she would not meet his eye. He could play any game she wanted. If only to gain her favour again. What a pathetic devil he was. “You wanted to see monsters?”

“Yes,” she sniffed, beginning to walk again, “I have not seen a single one since I came here. I thought the underworld would be ridden with them.”

He smiled. “There are many monsters here, sweet angel, only that your aura has scared them away.” At her frown, he continued, “You burn too bright. Only those creatures powerful enough to challenge you would dare appear. Others would simply dissolve before they could come near you.”

“Even in my state?” she said incredulously. “I am injured and barely able to fly.”

“You underestimate how wondrous you are,” he said, as he quickened his step to move in front of her. He touched her silver tresses lightly, “you are the most exquisite creature.”

“I am no creature,” she objected.

“We are all creatures. You are of the light and we, of the dark. Look, even the sun is trying its best to greet you.” They looked up, and sure enough, some rays of light broke over the horizon, where the sun had begun to rise, although it was hidden behind a thick set of grey clouds. 

A smile broke out across Dany’s face. Radiant and bright. He marvelled at it. “There _is _sun here!”

“Yes, of course.”

She broke away from him, hands reaching out towards the sky as her eyelids dropped close, bathing in what little light filtered onto them, a soft, happy sigh escaping her lips. “It’s been so long.”

The sight hurt him. _She is so happy to see the sunlight. She is not of this place…_

He did not know why he felt so despondent at that. Of course an angel did not belong here. Their time together was short and would end as soon as she healed enough to survive the trip back up home. Her skin was already pale, much paler than it had any right to be. She belonged in the sun. 

The thought of her leaving him forever was more painful than he expected.

_She has only been here for nary a few weeks and already the thought of her leaving pains me._

Distracted by the bittersweet sight before him, he did not sense the newcomers around them until a soft growl emitted from nearby. He whipped around at the same time Dany did. “Oh dear,” he said, right before, from the mists around them, the faint shadows of six humungous beasts began to form, “I think we have company.”

Dany ran back to his size, arms held out towards him. He grabbed her hands and tugged her gently behind him, shielding her from the incoming beasts.

“You trust me, right?” he said over his shoulder. He felt Dany give a little nod against his arm from where she peeked around.

The forms materialised into the more distinct shapes of wolves, heads as large as their torsos and teeth the size of his hand. At the head of the pack was a familiar grey and white direwolf, twice as big as the others with yellow eyes and mouth open in a snarl. Nymeria. He sighed. That meant Arya was around somewhere too. She seemed to be spending more of her days with Sansa, which annoyed him a little – he might love Sansa, but she was a right pain in the ass and he didn’t want her acerbic personality and narrow-minded views rubbing off on Arya.

“Hello, Nymeria,” he greeted, with a small wave of his hand. The wolf ignored him. Her eyes were fixed on the half-hidden form of Dany. Behind them, he sensed more wolves circling them. Some had ghostly green blood dripping down from their teeth, fresh from a kill. He should have noticed the lack of souls in the area. They had been cleared out. “This is my friend. Mind giving us some space?”

“Does talking to them work?” Dany whispered from behind him, voice a little panicked. He threw her a glance over his shoulder. Her wings had materialised, half unfolded, like she was ready to take flight, which he knew for a fact was a bad idea. It would only alert her presence to the beasts in the sky. He wasn’t so sure how much control Bran had over _those, _or whether he would be hostile to Dany. She had been attacked by his ravens after all.

“Don’t fly off,” he commanded. Reaching behind him, he brought her to his side. “The wolves are friendly, you can say hi.”

She looked at him like he was crazy.

“Do it,” he urged, nudging her.

Looking unconvinced, Dany slowly turned to the leader of the pack. She recoiled a bit, wings twitching behind her, before taking a deep breath and bowing her head politely. “Hello…Nymeria?” She looked to him for confirmation. At his nod, she repeated, “Nymeria.”

The wolf was not appeased. The hostility was thick in the air. Jon sighed. He did not want to escalate the matter, and he was pretty sure Ghost would soon sense the tension and make his way back south, ready to defend him. That would be a right mess. The last time the wolves had gotten into a fight, they had created chaos in the moorlands.

“Sansa, Arya,” he barked into the open air. They should be nearby. If this many wolves had gathered around them, there was no way the ringleaders would not have been alerted to the divine presence. When nothing happened, he pulled harder on their mental tether, annoyance and anger beginning to rise in him. He did not want Dany’s day ruined. “Come here. I mean it.”

It took a few seconds before, as he expected, the wolves parted and the two figures of his cousins strode through the mists, their dark cloaks swirling behind them in the light breeze that had picked up. They were as different as night and day; one, tall and willowy, and the other, short and nimble on her feet. Behind them was another direwolf, slimmer than the others and expression much friendlier.

“Hello, Jon,” said Arya. Sansa didn’t bother with niceties.

“What is she doing here?” she asked brusquely, eyes narrowed. “She does not belong here.”

“She’s just visiting,” he said casually, “and I was showing her around. Your wolves are making it hard for us to do that.”

“Visiting?” Sansa scoffed. “You expect us to believe that?”

Beside her, Arya drew her sword, a thin slip of a thing that he had gifted her five hundred years ago. Her grin was cruel. “I agree with Sansa. I find it difficult to imagine what a pretty angel from heaven is doing here.” She began to circle them, swinging her sword in the air, the sharp swishes audible in the silent morning air.

“Are you looking to get corrupted?” she taunted, “Were the high heavens too pure for you? Do you want to see the monsters that lurk in the underworld?”

The wolves around them growled and one even gave a bite. Dany pressed closer to his side.

“Arya, stop,” he said firmly, voice harsh. She was putting on a ridiculous show. He knew she would never actually attack Dany. 

“Must I?” she continued to taunt.

He snapped. He reached to his side and Longclaw appeared, magnificent and broad, dwarfing the needle in Arya’s hand. She blinked, taken aback, and even Sansa gave a small gasp behind him.

Storm clouds gathered above, thunder booming, and the temperature dropping by several degrees, as his anger spilled over and around them. “I said,” he said roughly, his voice thick from rage, “_stop._”

Arya finally backed off, a deep scowl on her face, and when he looked over his shoulder, Sansa too was fixing him with a death glare. The three of them stood there for a few moments, a silent stand-off, with a confused, unsettled Dany in between.

Finally, Sansa gave a sniff and the wolves around them immediately retreated. Heads bowed, they disappeared back into the mist from where they came. Arya sheathed her sword, resentment obvious on her face. He continued to hold his in his hands, just to piss her off a little more.

“Fine, walk these lands,” Sansa hissed. “Let her see what they look like. She may stay in ignorance of all the bad that goes around in these worlds. Here…_here,_ is reality.”

Then she turned on her heels, her heavy grey dress swishing around her ankles, and she too began to disappear into the fog. The redness of her hair was like a flaming beacon until it too was obscured by the whiteness around them. He felt Arya slip away too; he was too angry to face her. He would find her later. Maybe a few years later. She could wait.

“They are not the friendliest,” he said apologetically, when the mists around had finally receded, his sword disappearing from his hand. Dany looked upset.

“You raised your sword against your cousin. Is Arya not your favourite?”

“Aye, and she's a right pain when she wants to be. She was putting on a show for you, being cruel. I’ll talk to her eventually.”

Dany nodded, looking a little reassured. “And your sword...”

“Ah, that was Longclaw.”

“Not a pitchfork?” she said curiously, peering down at his hand like one would magically appear. He stifled a snort.

“Another time, perhaps. I don't bring it out very often.”

“And you still won't show me?”

“No.”

Dany sighed. “Okay. Well, more, Jon Snow, I want to see more.”

꙰ 

“There is a lake nearby,” he told her as they walked a long, winding path back to the main road, Dany picking up black, wilted flowers along the way, uncaring of their limp, wrinkled petals. They truly seemed to delight her. “It’s a bit further off the road. I will send the carriage to meet us on the other side.”

Slowly, they made their way through a little sandy path across the moor, both cognisant of eyes watching them from the mists that thickened once more around them. At one point, he heard the loud caw of a raven, a small black spot circling above them. Dany stiffened at his side, no doubt remembering their attack on her. He placed a hand on the small of her back protectively and earned a grateful smile.

“What is in the lake?” she queried, as the sandy path began to widen and the ground beneath them began to soften.

“I suppose it isn’t a _really _a lake.”

“Oh?”

“More of a,” he gave her a sheepish look, “bog.”

“A bog,” she deadpanned. “That is very different from a lake, good sir.”

“Well, my lady,” he said, smiling, “you asked for monsters. Perhaps the fish won’t be so scared of you and even if they are, they are stuck in a body of water.”

Minutes passing, the stench of peat and rotting algae soon reached their noses, and Jon began to second-guess his decision to bring her here. Dany too looked uncertain that she had made the right choice in asking to see this place. Even her usual natural perfume could not overcome the foul smells.

“Can’t things smell nice here?” she asked. “Fiends can look scary, they do not have to smell terribly too.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he croaked out, trying not to breathe any more than necessary. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a small handkerchief and offered it to her. “This might help.”

She eagerly took it from him, pressing it to her nose, before she appeared to remember her manners. “Oh, thank you,” she said, voice muffled under the cloth, looking embarrassed, “are you sure you do not want it instead?”

He snorted. “Please, my lady, do not pretend you wish to give it back to me. I'm sure the devil can stand a little bit of stink.”

Before them, the tall stalks of lightly swaying cattails and the shadow of a great willow tree came into view. The pungent smell of the stagnant lake, water thick and, as Jon described, more of a bog, was stronger than ever. Giving up any pretense of fortitude, he turned up the lapels of his coat to press against his nose, breathing through his mouth to lessen the stench.

On any other day, he would expect six-limbed fiends lumbering around the area, misshapen giants that smashed all those in their path, or perhaps the twisted lizard-snakes that slithered and scampered in the undergrowth that trailed out from the adjoining forest. Now, however, the lands around the lake were devoid of all life-forms. Only the ghostly glow of souls in the distance, drawn to Dany’s presence as usual without any creatures to ward them off, lingered.

“All I see are tortured souls,” she said sadly.

Feeling sorry for her, he fought the urge to wretch at the terrible smell and led her along the edge of the water, until they reached a small pier with a boat swaying lightly at the end of it in the water. A hunched figure sat in it.

“A ride,” he told it. The figure nodded, its face showing for the first time when it looked up at them, beady black eyes above a cow’s nose and a pig’s mouth. Stitches ran across its face and across its wrists. A creature sewn together from different animals. Dany squeaked softly at the sight. After Jon helped Dany in, the two hands that gripped the oars and began to row were different, although both undeniably human. 

They moved smoothly, almost silently, through the brackish water. As they reached the centre, the faint forms of the aquatic animals beneath them could be seen and a few brave ones even broke the surface to snap at them. They were hideous. Scaly, eye-less, teeth sharp and as long as his hand, jaws wide and able to swallow a man whole. Their fins were barbed and some even had claws at their sides in lieu. Dany looked entranced.

“You really aren’t a typical angel,” he told her. “I would think you would be disgusted. That you would be, I don’t know, crying for their souls.” He waved at the greenish forms floating at the water edge.

“They are the damned, are they not?” she said quietly. “They have hurt others.”

He stared at her. “I thought it was in an angel’s nature to be compassionate.”

“I _am_, for all those that these people hurt. Tell me, what did that one do?” She pointed at one soul.

“Murdered his mother and brother.”

“That one?”

“Raped and killed young university students.”

“That one?”

“Tortured prisoners of war, killed innocent civilians, raided villages.”

It was a wretched world. He felt ashamed. This was no place for an angel. She should be up home, in a world filled with laughter and light and goodness. Dany was too good for this place, for him. He took in her skin, pale from the lack of sunlight, the grey coat on her shoulders no longer the brilliant white when she first arrived, as if the blackness of his own existence was wearing off on her too. He did not want that. He did not want to take away her light.

“You should go home soon,” he said.

The sentence took Dany aback. Looking hurt, she asked, “What? Do you want me to leave?”

“It’s not that,” he trailed off, unsure of what to say. They travelled without speaking for a while more, Dany’s eyes sadly turned towards the water, where more creatures came up – eels, little biting fish, and even a deformed alligator – as if her melancholy lessened her light.

_There I go again_, he thought bitterly.

“We should head back,” he told her. “I think the smell here might kill me.”

It was a poor excuse and he knew it. Dany only nodded.

꙰ 

The ride back to Castle Black was silent, uncomfortable. He stole glances at her which she ignored. Her eyes were glassy and he knew she was not taking in the landscape either. Around them, the rain beat down, loud against the carriage roof, large pelts hitting the glass windows.

He wanted to apologise. To beg for her forgiveness. But that same self-doubt from before came back.

_She does not belong here. The faster she understands that, the better._

When they reached Castle Black, Dany exited the coach without his help and escaped to the guest with nary a word of acknowledgment. He watched her go, miserable.

The storm worsened, the raindrops so powerful and forceful, the winds so strong, that he feared the castle might not stand.

It was not for himself that he held fear. He only did not wish to hurt Dany.

Seated in the fireplace of his sitting room, he was not sure how long he spent lost in his own dark thoughts – perhaps hours, perhaps days, perhaps years, for time meant little when one was eternal – and at some point, Ghost returned home.

Holding back a sob, he slid to the floor, onto the ugly yellow carpet that Dany had insisted adding to his room, laid his face in his direwolf’s soft fur and fell asleep.

꙰ 

When he woke, Dany was seated on the floor next to him. Ghost had his head in her lap, his white far almost camouflaged against her own white dress, red eyes baleful as he looked up at her. She was stroking his head gently and looked positively tiny next to the massive wolf.

“You met Ghost, I see,” he said, voice scratchy from his sleep. How long had he been out? How long had Ghost dutifully acted as his pillow?

“I did,” she replied, smiling down at Ghost. “I was terrified when I first entered the room. I wanted to call out to you. But he just flopped down onto the carpet like he was wanted belly rubs.” She scratched Ghost behind the ears. “He is different from the other ones we saw.”

“Aye,” he said, rolling his eyes at the tongue that lolled out of Ghost’s mouth, “he is gentler. Sweeter. More open to strangers.”

“Like you,” Dany said.

He couldn’t help the smile on his face. “I suppose.”

They sat there in silence, the only sounds in the room the cracking of the logs in the fireplace, and he noticed for the first time that the storm had ceased.

It was Dany who spoke first. “You are right. I should leave soon.”

He had wanted her to understand this, but the words broke his heart anyway. He could not bring himself to give a longer answer than an “aye”.

“I am not meant to be so far away from home, I can feel it.” She sighed. “My wings are healed and yet I feel myself…fading. My skin is pale now. I fear I will disappear altogether if I do not return to Heaven soon.”

“You stayed longer than you had to,” he said. She dipped her head in agreement. 

“I want...I want to tell you why I came here.”

He glanced at her with surprise. Jon had honestly forgotten about that. As time passed, the question of why an angel had come to Hell had become less important to him; only that she was _with _him.

“So, why did you?” he asked slowly, when she did not immediately continue, her hands continuing to stroke Ghost's head tenderly. Ghost appeared to sense that she was using him as an excuse not to speak and abruptly got up, nearly knocking Dany back onto the floor. Jon hurriedly shot a hand out to steady her. 

She thanked him and stared longingly after Ghost's retreating form. Jon gave her time to collect her thoughts. 

"I wasn’t lying, I did fall,” she started eventually, not looking at him. “I just…I wanted to see more of the world. My brothers are terribly protective of me. They give me everything I want. They make sure I am surrounded by love and happiness and music. I wanted to see what it was like…out there.”

“So you came straight to Hell? You know the mortals up there have it bad,” he said, gesturing up to the ceiling.

She smiled. “I guess I wanted to rebel. I just wanted to take a peek, really, and I was flying around above, just looking at how _different_ this place looked. Then this murder of ravens bombarded me. Out of nowhere. The next thing I knew, lightning struck, my wings failed and I was hurtling down towards the ground.” She shifted closer to him, perhaps unconsciously, for her face was still turned towards her lap. “I saw creatures illuminated against the night sky. Terrible ones with large teeth and twisted arms. I thought they would eat me. I fell into the trees and landed near the waterfall. I saw the cavern on my way down and climbed into there.”

“Were you there long?”

“I don’t know,” she said. Her head leaned against his shoulder. He pushed closer to her side and moved his arm from between them to behind her, allowing her to nestle more comfortably. “I stayed awake for so long, afraid that something would attack me. Nothing came and eventually I just fell asleep. I was _so _tired.”

“And then I found you.”

“And then you found me,” she confirmed, looking up at him. She was so close, her breath warm on his face. He could make out each individual lash on her large, beautiful eyes. “I was scared at first, for I had been told so many terrible stories of devils. How they hurt others, how they would kill and maim angels. I thought you might hurt me too. Until I tried to feel you. Until I saw who you were, inside.”

He remembered it. She continued, “And then you took me in, took care of me, was always so gentle. And you showed me around, let me explore.”

He licked his lips, wanting to kiss her so much it physically hurt to restrain himself. "Do you like what you see so far?”

“I haven’t seen much but…” Her eyes dropped to his lips, and he shifted his arm around her waist, pulling her just a little closer. His heart began to pick up pace and he felt a rush of blood rush south.

“But?”

“I think I like _some _parts of it very much.”

He could not hold himself back any longer. He dipped his head and then his lips were on her.

They were as soft as he had imagined, plump, sweet. He caught her bottom lip between his own, sucked softly, tongue darting out to taste her. Sweet. So sweet.

Now that he had started, he could not stop touching her. Everything about her was so soft. Her lips, her breasts, the flesh around her hips, her ass. Under his roaming touch, she moaned prettily. It spurred him on. He tugged her to her feet, never breaking the kiss, and began to walk her back towards his bed, shedding his coat along the way. When her knees hit the edge of the bed, he placed a hand on her inner thigh, squeezing the tender flesh there.

She whimpered and he nearly lost control.

He forced himself to pull the dress over her shoulders rather than just rip it in half. His knees nearly buckled at the sight of her naked body in front of him.

She was flawless. Crafted from perfection. Her breasts were small and round, nipples taut in the cold air or from his touches, he was not sure. Probably both. His eyes trailed hungrily down the flat of her stomach to the tuft of silver air between her legs. His cock was straining through his trousers. He raised his eyes back to her face.

His heart stopped a little.

There was lust in her eyes, pupils blown wide and the amethyst nearly eaten up entirely in black…and there was something else too. Something more tender, something more immense than just physical desire.

_I think I may love her. And perhaps she loves me too._

The thought was frightening. He raised shaky hands to cup her face, the pads of his thumbs stroking the apples of her cheek. “Are you sure?” he asked her.

She looked at him with absolutely trust in her eyes. “Yes.”

He moved swiftly after that. His shirt came off, then his pants, his mouth working the whole time to kiss her mouth, her neck, her breasts. When his hands were free, they joined his mouth to squeeze and tug gently, until her back arched into him. He feasted like a starved man.

Soon, his mouth began to descend. He felt her stiffen beneath him.

Pushing himself up onto his elbows, he locked eyes with her. “Don’t worry,” he told her, “you can tell me to stop anytime.”

Dany’s eyes were wide, worried, but she nodded. “Go slow,” she whispered.

“Always,” he said, except his words were now muffled against her sex. Beneath him, her hips rose.

He went slow, so slow his hands and mouth ached from restraint. He wanted her wet, writing beneath him, wanting and ready. They had time. Time enough for him to move at any pace she needed. It was not until her hands threaded through his curls and pushed a little harder that he picked up his speed, his fingers moving in her and his tongue swirling around her pearl.

“Jon!” she cried out above him and then she was falling apart.

He gave her time to recover after that, gathering her in his arms, kissing her shoulders and neck from behind. She clutched his hands where they rested against her stomach.

“Jon,” she said again, this time, her voice more languid in its need. She turned in his arms, one leg slipping above his own, soft flesh smooth against his muscled thigh. His hand stroked her side before squeezing her butt, pushing her against his length. Dany gasped. “Jon,” she repeated, the languidness receding to something more urgent.

He kissed her deep and pushed her onto her back.

“Are you sure?” he asked again.

“Yes,” came the reply, immediate, unwavering. Her eyes bore into his own. “I am yours and you are mine.”

His heart broke at words. He gazed down at her, unable to belief that someone so good, so pure would ever deign to say those words to him. “Don’t,” he told her, voice cracking, “don’t say that.”

“Why?” she asked, confused, hurt. “I thought…don’t you-”

He quickly leaned down to kiss her, stopping her poisonous train of thought. “It is not that,” he whispered against her lips when he finally drew back, “it is that I don’t…I don’t deserve you. I have so little to offer you. I am a wretched creature, Dany, no good, nothing good-”

This time, it was Dany that stopped him with a kiss.

“You are wrong, Jon Snow,” she said, hands brushing tenderly across his eyes to wipe away tears he did not know were forming, “you are good. I am yours, and you are mine.”

He thrust into her not long after that, again, and again, as her hands wrapped around him, pulling him close, their lips meeting, and he felt like he was home.

꙰ 

He held her for a long time afterwards, fingers tracing her pale, naked skin, so much fairer than the golden it had been when she first came to him. He knew it was time for her to leave.

“I am sorry,” she spoke against his chest, her lips brushing over his naked skin, “I wish I could spend the rest of eternity with you.”

He pulled her body closer, at the same time that he lifted her face up to meet his eyes. He tried to commit the shape of her body, the curve of her smile, the gentleness of her eyes to memory. There would be no other. Only her.

“I understand,” he told her. For no matter how curious she was, no matter how much she liked these lands, she did not belong her nor could she want to live here forever. “I can’t imagine living in Heaven. Gods, all that light, and I bet I would wear white, wouldn’t I?” He made a face. “Imagine that.”

Dany giggled, swatting at his arm. “I failed to make you wear a different colour in my time here.”

“While you started moving towards shades of grey.” He grinned triumphantly at her. “I think I know who won _that _battle.”

She laughed out loud, the sound like a melody to his ears, and he was brought back to the first time he had sensed her so many weeks ago. Thinking back now, perhaps he had been singing the song of her laughter, lilting and perfect.

Catching him lost in his thoughts, Dany rubbed her nose against his.

“Thank you,” she said, kissing him, “for everything. For everything you have shown me. For taking care of me.”

He kissed her back. Slowly, passionately, wanting to draw the moment out forever.

“I think,” he said after they broke apart, hating to speak the words, “it is time for you to go home.”

Dany nodded. Tears tinged her lashes. “I think so too.”

꙰ 

He helped her dress after that. He was careful not to touch more than he should, although he gave into temptation a little and kissed her shoulder, just once, before he pulled her dress into place again.

“Thank you, Jon,” she said. Then, a mischievous smile. “You are truly a gentleman. A devil that puts even angels to shame.”

He scoffed. “I am no brute,” he told her again, the words coming back to him.

“No, you are _good_.”

His chest clenched painfully at her words. _I am good. _He did not think that was possible. Devils were not good. Someone whose mind and very presence created the ghastly beings around him could not be good.

Still, he wanted to be something more for her. Something that she wanted. Something that he could be content with and which she could love.

He held her close, breathing in her scent, committing to memory the feel of her curves against his own, hard body. _I love you_, he wanted to tell her, _I love you. Please don’t leave me. Eternity will be meaningless without you. _The words rang loud and clear in his mind, without doubt, without uncertainty, but he could not say them.

Instead, when they parted, he only kissed her hand and asked, “I will take you back up to land, Dany. Do you have a place in mind or may I bring you someplace close to me?”

She shook her head, expression forlorn and sad. “No, I will go wherever you lead me.”

꙰ 

He brought her out of the castle onto the front steps. The rain was unforgiving. Reflective of the sadness that permeated his entire being.

_How will I live without her?_ _Will my days become dreary and grey again? Colourless._

Beside him, Dany’s wings unfolded, magnificent in their full glory. He reluctantly called upon the mists, these thicker than before, for they were going not to different corners of the hellscape, but up, towards the mortal plane.

Standing amongst the white air, he kissed her again.

“I want to remember your lips,” he told her. She smiled sweetly at him, and kissed him once more.

They were so lost in the feel of one another that they did not immediately notice the mists parting around them, nor the coldness in the air, or the soft blue rays of the moonlight. They might have kissed for hours, mapping one another’s lips, tongue and skin, before they finally broke apart to survey their surroundings.

They stood in a small clearing. All around them, the grassy hills and the tall, coniferous trees were caked with white snow which glinted in the light of the full moon.

“Snow,” Dany gasped. “This is so pretty! Did you want to show me snow?”

He chuckled. “Somewhat. Come, the place I want to show you is not far off.”

He slipped his fingers through hers, clasping her hand and his side, the warmth of her body next to him breathing life into his cold bones. Up here, in the mortal plane, he always _felt _more alive. He didn’t like it. Too many sensations, too many sounds, too many humans. It hurt to stay for too long; he had to eventually retreat to the safety of the underworld. When he did come up, it was to places like these. Isolated, chilly, quiet.

It was nice, though, to have someone by your side.

They trudged through the snow towards a small pathway that led off from the clearing. Another thing that he extremely despised about this plane was his inability to manipulate the landscape. How tiring it was to have to…_do things_ to get what you want. He had spent a few years watching humans slowly cut down vast swathes of trees, drill into the earth, lay foundations for houses and finally build the structures on the land. Something he could have done with a wave of his hand back home.

They walked in comfortable silence until, finally, the faint sounds of water falling reached their ears. Dany’s head perked up at the sound.

“A waterfall?” she questioned.

“Aye, a special one,” he responded. Smiling, he pulled her along quicker. She followed enthusiastically, her smile bright.

The trees gave way once more to a clearing, this one much larger, and spread out in front of them was a beautiful waterfall.

“I was born in the snow,” he told her. “A long time ago. My mother’s name was Lyanna Stark, the sister of my cousins’ father. I do not know who my own father was. My mother never spoke of him. I was called Jon Snow affectionately. I always loved snow. I remember coming here with my cousins, escaping from Hell when our parents weren’t looking.” Dany listened attentively to him, her expression enchanted by his words. He pulled her close to the small lake at the bottom, trailing around its edge to the boulders that led up one side of the waterfall. “I used to climb these rocks with Robb. I wish you could have met him. He is nice. Arya and Rickon would complain, too small to follow us, while Bran would try his best to come up after us.”

“You love them very much,” she said.

“Aye, I do. Perhaps it is odd that devils would have such strong bonds with their families. It is what it is.” He looked up the curtain of water, clean, pristine. "We wouldn't be able to stay long. It kind of hurts, being up here, we aren't meant to be in the physical plane. But we stayed as long as we could. It's one of my favourite memories. And I...I found you near a waterfall too.” He turned his gaze to her. “Your magic that night...it made me recall my fondest memories, things I had forgotten because it's been so long. And I...life had been so bare. I was so fucking bored. And you came back and you made me smile again.”

It was a terrible speech he knew, and would not encapsulate just how much her entry into his life meant to him. “I love you,” he whispered instead, hoping the words sounded as earnest and true as he felt inside. “I love you so much.” 

Dany exhaled, surprise plain on her features. For a heart-stopping moment, he feared he had overstepped his boundaries, that he had been too forward, moved too fast, but those fears were quickly assuaged when she pulled his head down roughly to press her lips to him. “I love you too,” she said, breath hot against his lips. “Jon...I love you too. And thank you, for showing me this.”

He fought back tears. He did not want to part from her. 

“Dany, I-”

She hushed him with a finger to her lips.

“Daenerys.”

He sucked in a breath, eyes widening.

“My name is Daenerys,” she said, purple eyes soft as they gazed into his own. “Daenerys Targaryen.” Her smile was shy, lovely.

It took a moment to register. Then, he was grinning down at her.

“Well, Daenerys Targaryen, how foolish of you to reveal your name to a devil. I can now enact my evil plans to curse your name.”

She laughed, lips spread wide, and she stood on her tiptoes to give him another lingering sweet kiss on the lips.

“I am one step ahead of you. I shall curse you instead, for you have revealed not just your name to me but your birth and life.” He waited, with bated breath, not knowing what to expect. "You are cursed to be with me for eternity, Jon Snow. We _will _be together. I have ordained it. While I find a way to make that happen, we will meet here, once a year. Today is October 31st in the calendar of the humans in this world. Every October 31st, you shall come to me here, Jon Snow, at this waterfall. I command it.” Her eyes shimmered bright in the moonlight. “I will not forgive you if you do not appear.”

“I would never disobey,” he replied huskily. He kissed her again, more ardently this time. His tongue delved into her mouth and she gasped at his audacity.

_I will see her again. I will see her again. Daenerys. Daenerys._

When they parted, he spoke furiously against her skin, “I will find a way too. For us to be together, forever. We will never be parted. Until then, I will wait for this day. Every day, I will wait for you, prepare for you. I am yours, and you are mine.”

They held each other longer, until he began to feel the presence of other celestials at the edges of his mind. Her brethren were coming. Jon did not fancy being here when they did. Dany – for she would always be Dany to him – clearly felt the same.

“Go,” she said. “Quickly.”

He nodded. Backing away, unwilling to turn from her, he began to call upon the mists of Hell, when at the last minute she called out.

“Wait!” He paused. She bit her lip, hands wringing. “You…you have not shown me your true form.”

“True form?” he repeated confused.

“I…” She waved to his head. “I want to see your horns. And- and your tail.”

It took him a moment to remember, before he burst out laughing. Dany looked at him, confused.

“Next year,” he told her. “Next year, you will surely see me properly. See you again, my love.”

He saw only the faint, illuminated forms of angels descending to Dany’s side, wings outstretched and cries of relief and joy in the air, before the mists enshrouded him. The last thing he saw were her eyes, amethyst and lovely, staring not at her family but at him, until she could see him no longer and he was taken away. One more year. A year more and he would see them again.

_End._

**Author's Note:**

> ASDSFG I'm sorry if that ended abruptly. I just ran out of time!! And I think this was my first foray into smut? Mild as it was. I hope you liked it anyway! 
> 
> I also wanted to let all the nice, supportive readers out there who leave such lovely or helpful comments, who motivate me to write, push me to do better, and help me to become a better writer. You all make my day. :) I promise to become better at writing.
> 
> Also, come find me at daeneryssed on twitter if you wanna chat! :D


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